


you've got to take a chance on something, sometime

by spirkylurkey



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Office Fusion, And Keith has been in love with Lance from the start, Basically Lotor is Lance's not-very-nice CEO bf, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Jealous Keith (Voltron), Just some of the events are the same but you're good if you haven't, LANCE AND KEITH ARE JIM AND PAM- SORT OF, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance just wants to be loved, Langst, Literal ray of sunshine Lance, M/M, Office AU, Office drama, Pining Keith (Voltron), Still ok to read if you haven't seen the office, They're gonna argue but it's gonna be okay, klance, lance is best boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2018-12-27 15:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12084129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spirkylurkey/pseuds/spirkylurkey
Summary: Lance McClain is the office secretary. Salesman Keith is smitten, but Lance is dating Lotor from Corporate.(An Office AU in which I just TORTURE PINING KEITH)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading! My last fic (though I'm reaaaaaally embarrassed by it) got 500+ kudos and a bunch of comments so I figured I should get something out!  
> Anyways I love the office and my intention here is (if you've seen the office) to have Lotor as kind of a Jan figure but this should be entirely understandable without having seen any of The Office. I already have another chapter in the works, so drop your thoughts and suggestions :)

When Keith comes through the front door of Voltron Enterprises on Monday, Lance has a familiar smile for him, looking up from his computer briefly, his fingers still clicking over the keys as he grins. Keith hangs his coat up on the rack and comes to rest his elbows on the reception desk, looking down at Lance where he sits. 

 

“So,” Lance launches in immediately, devious intentions in his tone, “how long do you think it will take Pidge to realize I totally forwarded all her memos to burnout Rolo so she’d be forced to go talk to him? Because I wanna hit that sweet spot where I’m here to see her realize but gone before she figures out it was me and enacts revenge.” 

 

Keith is trying to muffle his chuckling with his hand and failing miserably; Lance reaches up to smack his arm and hiss about blowing his cover. It’s unbearably warm, this: Lance’s sunshine smile turned up at him, the freckles dotting his cheeks, the way Keith feels immeasurably better about this early morning. Lance is nearly always like this. He smiles at every client, kisses ass over the phone, keeps the candy jar full, and never complains. Whenever asked, he always puts on his serious face and says it’s his “Sovereign duty as the eye candy receptionist.” Keith quietly agrees with the eye candy bit at the very least.

 

They chat for a bit about how explosive Pidge’s reaction is, wondering if their IT will give Lance a nasty computer virus, and then Keith wishes him good luck in his pranking and walks the paltry five feet to his desk as Shiro comes in the door. He looks polished as ever, putting Keith’s bedhead and rolled up dress shirt to shame. But Shiro is the boss here and Keith is a college dropout with almost two years sunk into the corporate machine, so. 

 

“Good morning Shiro!” Lance chirps, drawing a smile out of their boss (as Lance can draw a smile out of nearly everyone). 

 

“Good morning Lance, any messages?” Shiro asks, and waits patiently as Lance flicks his glossy red nails through a small notepad and hums affirmatively. 

 

“Yessir: Lotor is hosting a conference call with all the branch managers at 10:00, so be ready for that,” Lance says. Keith watches as the soft blush descends over Lance’s cheeks at the mention of the CEO’s right hand and Lance’s current boyfriend of almost a year. Though, Keith thinks bitterly, boyfriend is not the word he’d use for the relationship that Lotor and Lance have.

 

And- okay, it’s not like he thinks Lance is an innocent flower who can’t make his own decisions, but watching Lotor do what he does- it’s tough. Especially for Keith, who is man enough to admit to himself that he’s had a crush on Lance since the receptionist had smiled up at him and said “Hi, I’m Lance, nice hair. You’re cute, but if you ever use my special coffee creamer without asking you’re a dead man.” (What can Keith say? He likes them feisty.) 

 

But he digresses- Shiro nods and gives thanks- he likes Lotor almost as much as Keith does, which is to say just short of total hatred- and enters his office to prep for what Keith is sure will be a miserable conference call.

 

Simultaneous with Shiro’s door clicking shut is the plink of his desktop with the sound of an incoming IM. Lance has impeccable timing.

 

McClainL: lotor is coming down tomorrow!!! :D trying to think of a restaurant that’s worth him making the two hour drive???? thinking of that new french place, have u been?

 

KoganeK: Don’t think it’s any good. Get back to work lazy

 

McClainL: party pooper 

 

Nevertheless, Lance returns to going through memos and Keith lets his shoulders relax. Lance is as blissfully oblivious as ever.

 

. . .

 

They take their lunch together in the break room. Lance flicks pieces of his salad at him from the other side of the table and asks about his mom and makes fun of Keith’s microwaved hot pocket. It’s so much less than what he wants, but it’s enough. It’s enough.

 

. . .

 

True to Lance’s word, Lotor slinks up to reception sometime the next afternoon. Keith immediately gets up on the pretense of more coffee and doesn’t return for ten minutes. It doesn’t do much good, as he comes back just in time to catch the part he was desperately trying to miss. He knew it was coming. This is what happens approximately 80% of the time Lotor comes on the promise of a nice dinner or night out. Keith is there to witness the subtle molting of emotion on Lance’s normally overtly expressive face.

 

“Again, darling, I’m so sorry to cancel. I’ve just been terribly busy. You understand, of course?” Lotor says, eyes imploring, hovering over Lance’s desk commandingly in a suit with lines sharp enough to cut. “Of course,” Lance mimics back, taking the hotel keycard that Lotor has supplied. “I’m just glad we get to see each other at all. I’ll see you tonight,” he continues, smile empty. Lotor gives an answering smile as razor-bladed as his three-piece and leaves. 

 

Keith waits until he hears the door shut to bring Lance the steaming mug of coffee he’d brought back. Lance looks up at him. His eyes are tired.

 

“No French place tonight. A tragedy, considering your glowing recommendation,” he jokes feebly. Keith, being the blunt individual he is, levels him with a look and leaves to see a client for the rest of the afternoon.

 

. . .

 

Lance comes in the next day fifteen minutes late. He’s in fresh clothes, but his nail polish is chipped and on his neck is a spot tinted the pale yellow-purple of a bruise covered with concealer. His face is unreadable, but he smiles all the same. 

 

Later in the day, he hears Lance asking Shiro if Keith “lost a client today or something. He looks…off.” Keith takes his lunch alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i wrote this chapter all the way through and then just went "nope" and deleted the whole thing bc i hated it, but this is rewritten and hopefully a lot better! this is where we really start getting off the beaten jim/pam path. because keith and lance aren't them, and things won't go the same. so instead of some passive spats i'm betting on an explosive fight that pam beesly would never initiate. ALSO HUNK IS AT HOME BC YOU KNOW MY GOOD BOY WOULD NOT BE LETTIN LANCE GET AWAY WITH THIS CRAP RELATIONSHIP IF HE WAS WITNESSING THE SHIT KEITH IS SEEING

It’s been two weeks since Lotor’s last visit and the tension has eased. He and Lance have an unspoken and unthinking deal not to talk about this, and they’ve both honored it so far. Lance knows Keith disapproves, though he doesn’t seem to know why, and Keith knows Lance knows, so that’s that. Keith constantly reminds himself that he’s used to this. He’s used to playing bystander as it rubs him raw. The thought doesn’t help. It rarely ever has. 

 

Nevertheless, he pushes on, meeting Lance in the break room to listen to him chatter about his art to Keith, to show him the watercolors he paints in his free time. Because Lance is his friend, first and foremost. 

 

His friend, who is as paradoxical in his art as he is everything else: simultaneously loud and sheepish about his work. He can go on for hours about the precise indigo of the paint he’d just bought, but he’s quiet and embarrassed when legitimately complimented. 

 

“I like the colors in this one,” Keith says. He doesn’t know much about art.

 

“It’s sloppy,” Lance mumbles, blushing.

 

“Well, I like it,” Keith replies confidently. He’s learned that the only way to combat Lance’s insecurities is to reassure him whilst looking at him like you know what the fuck you’re talking about, which is something Keith is remarkably good at.  
He knows it’s worked when Lance rolls his eyes, puffing out a “whatever” like his cheeks aren’t blazing red and his lips aren’t tipping up at the corners, and flips the page. 

 

. . .

 

They’re meeting for lunch like they usually do, but today Keith has a cup of yogurt clutched in his hand. Mixed berry is Lance’s favorite; he had seen it while in the grocery store yesterday and picked it up, innocuous. Like he was bringing it home to Lance. Like he’d be digging in Keith’s fridge for yogurt and propping his lanky legs on Keith’s battered coffee table, like he was a part of Keith’s life.

 

Nevertheless, he’d paid five bucks for the pack of yogurt, and Lance is going to eat it, goddamnit, regardless of Keith’s turmoil over some fucking dairy. He had brought them with him to work and cracked one off in the communal fridge before they took their lunch. Keith, emotionally inarticulate as he is, slams it down in front of Lance at the table. Lance, being Lance, gives him a shit-eating grin as he pulls it towards him. 

 

“You doooooo like me, Kogane,” he coos, licking an obnoxious stripe up the freshly peeled lid. 

 

“In your dreams, loser,” Keith scoffs.

 

Lance digs into the yogurt with a pleased hum. “So,” he intones sweetly, “how’d it go with the dude Shiro set you up with?” Lance is leaning in, eyes wide with curiosity. 

 

For all he’s grateful Lance isn’t mentioning his awkward probiotic gift, this topic is only marginally better. “Not great,” he says bluntly. 

 

“Shiro’s a great friend but all of his friends are so- quiet. I’m the quiet one. Someone’s gotta lead the conversation.” He shrugs.

 

“Mhm,” Lance says, bottom lip pulled into his mouth and eyes on his yogurt.

 

“What’s that face?” Keith asks. 

 

“What? Nothing? I mean- nothing. So no second date?”

 

“Definitely not. You know I hate being set up anyways,” Keith grumbles.

 

“Right!” Pidge exclaims, trapising into the room like she owns the place, one hand dug into a bag of chips, “I almost forgot you were an emo loner for a full thirty seconds there,” she snorts.

 

She spins on her heel to Lance. “Conference call with Hunk in twenty, be there or be square.” Lance’s face lights up. “No way! Just us? No Shay or the babies? I CAN MAKE DICK JOKES AGAIN!” Lance hollers at an extremely inappropriate sound level. “Gotta love the guy for taking a fucking year-long dad-batical, but man, he can’t call us from the backyard like every other husband who wants to secretly make gross jokes with his friends?”

 

“Dad-batical?” Keith and Pidge ask at the same time, admittedly with differing levels of disgust. Lance grins, chipper as ever. “Come on, guys. A sabbatical to be a dad? A DAD-BATICAL!” He yells, like they’re the crazy ones.

 

Keith takes that as his cue to leave.

 

. . .

 

Lance begins Keith’s Monday morning by yanking him by the collar into the conference room. When the door has been kicked shut by one of Lance’s ridiculously long legs, the man yanks a piece of paper out from his pocket and proceeds to wave it in Keith’s face, making frankly inhuman noises.

 

“Keith!” He shrieks, “Look at it! Holy crow, look at this!” He’s still shaking it wildly approximately three inches from Keith’s face. Keith, used to this behavior, yanks it out of Lance’s hands and reads it over. An art program, two hours downstate. Fully funded by corporate.

 

He grabs Lance’s arms to stop the vibrating. He holds on tight. “This is amazing, Lance, you’ve got to apply!” “You think so?” Lance asks, wiggling, clearly trying not to get too hyped. Keith nods exaggeratedly, smiling.

 

“I’ll talk it over with Lotor and we’ll see how it goes!” Lance says, clutching the paper to his chest and dimpling heavily.

 

“Right, yeah, let me know,” Keith murmurs, hands still hovering in the air, warm from Lance’s arms. 

 

. . .

 

“So, when are you sending in your application?” Keith asks as he gets in from a sales call later that day. 

 

I’ve decided not to apply,” Lance says, making himself small in the kitchenette’s table nook.

 

“What? What the hell, why not?” Keith asks. 

 

“Oh, well,” Lance is nearly whispering now, clutching his coffee mug for dear life and avoiding eye contact, “Lotor really doesn’t like the idea, and he’s right, it’s really just a hobby of mine. Besides, it’s so far, and can you even imagine the gas it’d waste?” Lance scoffs, shrugging like he’s trying to force everything to glide off his shoulders.

 

Meanwhile, Keith is trying desperately to shove down the red clouding his vision. He takes a breath. “Have you told Lotor just how much this means to you? How badly you want to do more than this? How much it bothers you that you’re not?”

 

“I try not to bother him with that kind of stuff,” Lance says, and god, he sounds so small.

 

“Oh, you mean like your thoughts and feelings?” Keith asks hotly, thinking, this is it, this is the day I end this Cold War by fucking saying something too honest. But it never comes, because Lance never gives a real reply.

 

“Yeah,” the Lance says, getting up. His coffee ripples in his trembling hands as he walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a tumblr for my writing now! it's brand new, come drop me a prompt or say hi! i'm at spirkylurkey there too :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, sorry for the absence. i was super sick and it was my birthday, two events which, unfortunately, overlapped. anyways, enjoy and i hope it hurts you like it hurts me! and if you have any thoughts or prompts hmu here or at my tumblr (also spirkylurkey)

That Thursday, Lance invited him to a bar after work. “Thought you didn’t like to drink?” Keith asked. Lance had quirked a smile, empty, said, “I don’t.” Keith agreed anyway, getting in his car to follow Lance.

 

Now they’re here in some semi-sleazy bar five blocks from the office and Lance is already two shots deep with a similar amount of buttons undone on his shirt. He’s giggling, clutching Keith’s shoulders and wobbling on the barstool. 

 

“And!” he declares, “and the food was burning and Rosa was just yelling and it was like, woah, you know, you know?” He looks at Keith imploringly. “Uh, no, I don’t?” Keith questions, confused. He’s had one beer and he hasn’t seen Lance drunk before but he sees regular Lance eight hours a day every day, so he knows something is at least a little off regardless of intoxication. Lance is grinning as big and cheesy as always, but his smiles aren’t reaching his eyes.

 

“You should slow down,” Keith says, trying to use Shiro’s infallible dad voice. 

 

“Yeah,” Lance mutters, suddenly withdrawn, and orders a beer instead. He fiddles with it, sliding it between his hands on the slick bar top in silence, chewing on his lip.

 

“Lance-“ Keith tries, but Lance cuts him off abruptly. “I never applied. For art school. I never even applied. I’m not- I know I’m not that good. And that’s okay, it really is. I’m just, um. I’m sorry that you put all that work into trying to get me to and I never did and I’m sorry that I made you come here just to tell you that.”

 

“Okay,” says Keith, processing. He’s not going to get mad about this, he’s going to try and force his notoriously hot temper into submission for one fucking night because Lance is clearly torn up about this and half-drunk anyways and he needs- he needs this. Keith can do this.

 

His temper just barely soothed, he resists the urge to brush Lance’s tears away with his thumb and hands him the damp napkin from under his drink instead. Lance furiously scrubs at his eyes with it. His cheeks are pink with embarrassment, which is something Keith would normally find frustratingly cute but right now, it’s mostly making him angry again.

 

Angry that Lance hates his art, angry that he’s really bad at comforting people and will probably have made the situation worse instead of better by the end of the night, and mostly, if he’s honest with himself, fucking pissed at Lotor for telling Lance that he couldn’t do this when it so clearly means so much. He wants to punch something. He settles for gritting his teeth and resigning himself to a night of unpleasantness.

 

Keith signals the bartender for two more beers and slides them both to Lance. 

 

Lance cocks his head at him, confused. “Look, if you didn’t apply, that’s okay. I just wanted you to try, because I think you’re good. I know you’re upset, so let me get you drunk and drive you home and things will, uh- things will look better tomorrow,” he finishes haltingly. He truly is awful at this, but Lance seems to be a little better for it, at least.

 

The receptionist’s shoulders lift a little and he quirks a little smile at him, lifting the drink obediently. He glugs down a generous amount and Keith watches a stray drop of beer descend his throat, cutting a line down his half-bare chest before soaking into his dress shirt. Belatedly, he realizes that Lance has been speaking for a while and Keith has missed everything but the tail end of the sentence. 

 

“…and I really feel dumb about it now, so let’s get smashed!” Lance exclaims, lifting his glass. Keith clinks his nursed beer to Lance’s and mentally prepares himself to carry him to the car at some point.

. . .

“Nooooooooooo, no,” Lance says almost an hour later whilst booping him on the nose, “Keithy, I’m a Star Trek kinda guy and YOU SHOULD BE TOO!” and then he stands from the stool, blanches, and whimpers, “I’m gonna vomit,” all in under five seconds.

 

As Lance rushes to the bathroom, Keith stands in stunned silence before he feels a nudge. The bartender is pressing a cold water into his hands and pointing to the bathroom, looking tired.

 

Keith thanks him profusely whilst paying off their (extensive) tab and goes to the bathroom. He hears no retching as he walks in, so he counts it as a win. Lance happily accepts the bottled water after unlocking his stall for Keith and presses his face to the cold side. 

 

“I’m a mess,” he mumbles into the toilet. Keith doesn’t respond, only lifts him up and guides him to the sink to rinse out Lance’s mouth. “I’m sorry,” Lance whispers to him, looking back at him blearily in the bathroom mirror. “Don’t be,” Keith says, “we’re friends.” Lance smiles back and allows Keith to get him into the car and to his apartment. Keith remembers where it is with a little help from a slightly sobered Lance and gets them there and up the stairs with only two wrong turns.

 

He walks the inebriated man to the door. “Do you, uh, want me to call anyone? Lotor, Hunk?” Lance only flaps a hand at him as he fumbles for his keys with the other. “I can take care of myself, and Pidge’ll take me to my car in the mornin’, she lives downstairs.” 

 

Keith nods and waits as Lance fumbles with his keys for a while, finally slipping them into the door and yelling, “right on the money!” far too loudly for eleven P.M. on a Thursday.

 

Lance opens the door and turns back after pulling his keys out. “Thanks, Keithy. You’re like, the bes’,my bes’…” he says softly. And then he leans in, kisses Keith, gentle and wet and too short, before slipping through the door with more grace than someone who’s all sails to the wind should have. 

Keith stands outside, heart violently ka-thunking in his chest, breathing shallow as he replays the moment. Lance’s face brushing against his, the way his lips had parted. He walks to his car in a daze. It wasn’t a good kiss by any means, not how he would’ve wanted it, with Lance drunk and his mouth tasting faintly of vomit, but. Lance kissed him.

 

He sits in bed and thinks about it for a frankly embarrassingly long time, and eventually decides not to get his hopes up about it. At least not until he knows if Lance even remembers it tomorrow.

 

. . . 

 

The next morning at work Lance arrives with an enormous coffee and comically large sunglasses. “I am. So beyond sorry about last night,” he moans as soon as Keith walks up to his desk and pats him on the shoulder. 

“Thanks for not leaving my drunk ass on a bar floor somewhere. I’m sure I was a total ass,” Lance grumbles into the keyboard his head is currently resting on.” “No problem, though I was tempted,” he replies, trying to keep the hurt off his face. 

 

“Jerk,” Lance says, punching him aimlessly with his face still pressed to the keyboard.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *villainous laugh*

It’s the day of their office’s Christmas party, and Lance had spent the last week getting progressively more excited for it, setting festive candies on his desk, attaching silver snowflakes to the ceiling (giving Keith a welcome look at his ass until Shiro gave him a shaming and extremely knowing look that forced him to stop), and telling everyone who would listen how excited he was that Lotor was going to make it this year.

 

One problem: Lotor doesn’t show. No calls, no texts, no messages from his assistant. By 4:00 the party is winding down, and Lance has spent most of his day with his butt planted on the bench outside calling Lotor, leaving messages. Keith brings him a coffee to combat the chill, especially because Lance is in an oversized bright red sweater that ripples down, leaving half of his back exposed, and tight black slacks, an outfit that is good for Keith’s mood but not the weather. He hands the receptionist the coffee and lets Lance bounce ideas off himself.

 

“He could be in a meeting that ran over? Or grabbing coffee and it’s just taking a really long time? Maybe his driver’s car broke down?” Lance says, voice bordering on hysterical as he chips the polish off his nails, then goes into full panic mode as he realizes his manicure is ruined.

 

Keith ditches the party and walks with him to the CVS a few streets over so Lance can pick up nail polish remover and some fresh polish, chatting with him and letting the setting sun and small talk calm his nerves little by little. By the time they arrive, Lance is all smiles and forces Keith into helping him pick out nail polish, groaning loudly when he holds up two bottles and Keith responds, “Um, they’re both blue?”

 

“NO, KEITH! One is royal blue and the other is CLEARLY navy,” Lance says, launching them headfirst into an argument about Keith’s apparent colorblindness.

 

“One of us is an artist here, and it isn’t me, so sue me for not knowing the difference between baby pink and powder pink!” Keith shouts eventually, throwing his arms into the air as an employee eyes him warily. Lance’s cheeks go scarlet. “An artist?” he says. “Duh, of course,” Keith replies thoughtlessly. Lance opens his mouth just as his phone starts blasting some pop song that he knows is Lance’s ringtone.

 

There’s a moment, so short he isn’t sure if he imagined it, when he’s aware of how close their bickering has gotten them to each other, shoes nearly touching. A moment where he looks at Lance and Lance, ruddy-cheeked, looks back, eyes soft. A moment where he thinks maybe Lance won’t pick up. And then he reaches into his pocket for his phone. Takes two steps back. And he answers.

 

“Hey babe, I was so worried!”

 

“Yeah, no, sorry for blowing you up, I was just-“

 

“Yes, but I was worried. I know that.”

 

“Yes. I know.”

 

“Sorry. Sorry. Yeah, Tuesday. I’m sorry.”

 

“Have a good day,”

 

Lance slides the phone back into his pocket and reaches his hand up to rub at his neck. His eyes are on the floor as he says: “He just forgot. I was being silly, freaking like that.” He gives Keith a forced smile. Keith watches as he slides the much-debated-over pink color he was holding back onto the shelf as he makes toward the register with the remover.

 

The walk back is silent, and not in the comfortable way it usually is. Keith is taking advantage of the darkness and poorly-lit streets to look at Lance’s face. It’s as handsome as always, soft, freckled brown skin, ski slope nose, feather-duster lashes, but his eyes are a dark, sad blue, and his thin brows are scrunched together in a way he knows Lance avoids because it ‘gives him wrinkles.’ 

 

Keith, socially inept as he is, can’t think of what to say. He decides he’s going to try anyways. It takes a while, and they’re in the parking lot of their building before he comes up with something. “So, that phone call didn’t sound so good,” he says stiffly, wincing as it comes out of his mouth. 

 

“Oh, no, it’s all me. I shouldn’t fuss so much. He gets busy sometimes. I’m just so gorgeous that when he doesn’t want a piece of this I worry for his health!” Lance says loudly, gesturing to himself with a boisterous laugh. Keith isn’t buying it. His anger gets the best of him in a straw-that-broke-the-camel’s-back moment.

 

“Can we stop treating the fact that he’s horrible to you like a punch line? Because I’m not fucking laughing anymore, Lance!” he shouts. Lance rears back from the volume of the sudden outburst as if he’s been slapped, mouth open. 

 

“He doesn’t treat me horribly! He’s just busy! You wouldn’t understand because you don’t date,” Lance yells back. 

 

“I don’t have to date to know that he treats you like you’re his last goddamned priority and you just lay there and take it!”

 

“Lotor loves me!”

 

“Does he? Because from where I’m standing it just looks like you’re a convenient fuck to him!” Keith shouts scathingly.

“Fuck you, you don’t know anything,” Lance snaps, storming into the building.

 

Keith stands in the parking lot barking mad for a few minutes before his brain kind of closes in around him and he knows that it has to be now. They’ve just had their only serious fight, they’re at their worst, and still- still Keith wants him. He’s mad as hell- furious, actually, but he still wants to comfort Lance, to be with him. To let him know that Lotor isn’t his only option, especially since Lance and Keith are about to be apart for almost a week for the winter holidays. So yeah, he decides, it has to be now or it’s going to be never. 

 

By the time he makes it up to the stairs and into the office, Lance has already picked up his keys and scarf and brushes past him on his way to the door, not acknowledging Keith at all.

 

“Wait!” Keith says loudly, and winces at his nerve-addled volume. Lance turns around, eyebrows lifted, and walks towards him. “Yeah?” Lance asks. The office is dim, the room quiet. Keith looks him in the eyes and lets the moment hang. He can hear Lance breathe, slightly uneven, as blue eyes hang on his and the air thickens. “Yeah?” Lance repeats, tone edging on desperate.

 

“I’m in love with you,” Keith says firmly. He watches as Lance’s face slowly freezes and the air seems to evade the other man’s lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this part in particular was really important for me to get right but i also wanted it to be a big shock for y’all when IT HAPPENED. let me know what you thought! any criticisms are welcome and i love to hear your predictions! i love and appreciate all of you xoxo


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: I’VE FLESHED OUT CHAPTER 4 A LOT MORE SO IF YOU’VE ALREADY READ IT PRE 10/13 I WOULD REREAD!!! SORRY I’M INDECISIVE LMAO
> 
> i just felt like i didn’t really get across WHY keith felt like he needed to say smth RIGHT THEN

There’s a full minute of silence, then, frantically: “What am I- what am I supposed to say to that, Keith? I mean I’ve always felt something, like maybe, maybe - but I’m just not- and I’m with Lotor and it just wouldn’t- it wouldn’t,” he cuts his halting speech off with a shaky breath as his eyes well up with tears.

 

There it is, confirmation that this whole thing wasn’t in his head. That they have something, that Lance wants him at least enough to feel conflicted about it, enough that he’s trembling in front of Keith now, arms clutched around himself protectively with shining eyes. So why does he feel gutted? Probably because Lance seems like admitting it hurts him, like his tucked-in hands are restraining him from touching. He gives Lance what he can’t admit that he wants. He grasps Lance’s face and draws it to his own, thumbing away the wetness from his eyes. 

 

Lance gives no resistance, letting himself be led, eyes closed. Salt-sticky tears press into Keith’s face as they meet and Lance’s hair is tickling his ear and he knows as it's happening that this overwhelming sensation is something like the fast burn of a dying match but Lance is kissing back and he’s going to make it last, sliding one hand to his waist as Lance reaches up to grind the lapels of his suit to dust with his tight grip. It goes on for minutes that feel like seconds of their mouths sliding wetly against each other before Lance pulls back like he’s been shocked, hands dropping and mouth guppying for a while before he can come up with a response. 

 

“Well, I can tell someone had too much to drink at the party, you lush,” he says. It’s weak at best, especially with Keith’s thumb still brushing his reddened bottom lip. “Don’t do this,” Keith says with no small amount of frustration, “Don’t fucking make light of this, Lance.” 

 

He’s still got Lance close and he’s using it to his advantage, boring his eyes into the other’s. “I’m in love with you. I love you. I love you. Don’t make this less than it is. I love you, and Lotor feels whatever the hell he feels for you, and you are your own person. So, choose one of us or neither of us, but you can’t- Lance, it can’t be both. But remember that you kissed back. And remember, “he can’t resist adding that last little bit, and he’s so calm on the outside but on the inside, he’s thinking please please pick me please let me give you everything- “that I would do this- “he tightens his grip on Lance’s waist and presses a tender kiss to his forehead- “in front of everyone, not just in some hotel room.” He relaxes his grip and it seems that he was the only thing keeping Lance upright, because he deflates like a balloon into the nearest desk chair. 

 

He makes no move to stand in the few minutes Keith spends hovering uncertainly in front of him, his body folded in on itself. It registers to Keith that he’d put the ball in Lance’s court and Lance has dropped it completely. He’s unsure if a flat “no” would have hurt more, but right now, it seems impossible that anything would be more painful than this. There’s no response, and eventually the burning in Keith’s lungs is telling him to get out before he suffocates on everything that he can’t have. Before he starts sobbing pathetically in front of Lance. He always tries not to cry but- this is an unavoidable, earth-shattering pain. He turns to leave as gasping sobs start rattling his chest like an earthquake.

 

As Keith is walking to the elevator he hears the faint tones of Lance’s breaking voice, “Hi, Mama,” he says. Keith doesn’t stick around to listen to the rest. If it’s over, then- then he tried his best. He can’t make Lance be with him.

 

He walks out, hands tucked into his suit pockets and mind blanked out as he makes the slow descent to his car. 

 

He’s halfway through the parking lot when he hears the determined clicking of Mary Janes behind him. He turns to see Lance. His face is covered up to the nose in a thick navy scarf that reflects the dark blue of his determined eyes, and his hair has been whipped into a mess. His cheeks are either windburned or flushed and Keith honestly cannot decide which is more likely. Annoyingly, he manages to look ridiculous and undeniably gorgeous all at once. 

 

“Hold it, Kogane,” he shouts, arms crossed protectively against the chill. When he reaches Keith, who has frozen completely in shock, he yanks his scarf down from where it’s looped around his mouth and gets to the point immediately. 

 

“Lotor will fire you,” Lance says, apropos of nothing, “both of us, actually.”

 

“Let him try,” Keith replies immediately, tone inarguable as hope rises strong in his chest. He’s trying frantically to beat it down but Lance sounds so matter of fact, like this will happen, and it’s getting to him.

 

“Okay, let’s,” Lance says, simple and pleased, smiling as he draws his bottom lip into his mouth. Keith understands the meaning instantly. It puts the air back in his aching lungs, and he can breathe again, better than before.

 

“Hey, Lance, are you free for dinner tonight?” He’s smiling, wide and uncontrollable.

 

“Yeah,” Lance replies, grin just as bright.

 

“Then it’s a date,” Keith says. The late-night flurries of snow whip around him and he feels nothing but warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first I wanted to draw this out with angst and pining. Then I saw s4 and, no spoilers, but I just felt like we needed something happy, so I apologize for the excessive fluff. I really hope you like it, and let me know if you'd be interested in additional dealing-with-lotor scenes and maybe some relationship progression??? Or maybe it's cool ending here idk lmk???


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long! there will be at least one more chapter, possibly two, after this one. thanks for your patience and reading xoxo

As fate would have it, Lotor is back in the office again the day after the office comes back from their weeklong winter break. Keith can tell it’s him because as soon as the office door opens, Lance’s loafers begin to tap rapid-fire on the floor. 

He and Lance had discussed things over their short break, talked about how Lance would handle this. Lance had insisted on the courtesy of a face-to-face breakup, and Keith had pressed for having it within office walls. They’ve talked through Lance’s anxieties and various scenarios (over a friendly lunch at the local diner, in an effort to keep away from each other lest Lance feel like a cheater). They’d even sat down with Shiro to draw up H.R. paperwork and discuss the situation. 

They’ve been careful, and yet Keith feels on edge as he watches Lance lean over his desk to murmur to Lotor, asking him to speak in the stairwell. Lotor agrees quickly, a hedonistic smirk on his face as he begins to loosen his tie on his way out the door. Keith, naturally paranoid at heart and ready to fistfight his boss at any time, follows them out. He sits at the top of the stairs while Lance and Lotor descend one flight to the stairwell, and he listens in for any signs of what he worries Lotor will do. He can just barely pick up their conversation from where he stands. He itches to follow them down, but he knows that it’s just his animal hindbrain. Logically, he wants Lance to do this for himself, to get out of a situation where his talent, his humor, his sunlight go unappreciated. 

He begins to worry as Lance begins with a cheery, “Hello, how are you?” to which Lotor replies a purred, “I’m very well darling, especially now that I'm alone with you.” Then there’s some shuffling, and Lance making a grimacing “Uh, um,” followed by more shuffling and then a sharp, “That’s enough!” 

“Excuse me?” Keith hears Lotor intone with confusion. 

 

“Listen,” Lance says, “we’ve had a good run but this isn’t working. I’d like to end things.”

 

Lotor’s response is immediate: a blithe chuckle, and then, “Oh no, I don’t think so. How can I make it better?”

 

Lance buckles down immediately, ‘that’s my boy,’ Keith thinks proudly as Lance continues.

“No, Lotor. This isn’t up for debate. We’re over. I hope we can maintain a good work relationship.” 

Being deprived of any visual, Lotor’s tone change is starkly apparent to Keith. Tongue rolling placatingly, he says, “Lance, darling, is it because I wouldn’t introduce you to my mother? We can do that.”

Again, Lance’s spine perseveres. “No. It’s really not about that. I’m just- I’m unhappy.”

“Oh,” Lotor says, so coldly clever it even sends shivers down Keith’s spine. “I see. You have someone else.”

“I-“ Lance fumbles.

Lotor sounds near snarling as he asks, “Who is it? Who have you let touch you?”

“It doesn’t matter who,” Lance says, seeming to calm himself and get steadier as he continues, “Only that you and I are over. I haven’t been unfaithful, but Lotor, I’m in love with someone else. I'm sorry to hurt you.”

Keith’s face heats, and he grips the doorframe. Lance loves him. While he’s felt it, hoped for it, this is the first time he’s heard Lance say it- and it's like nothing he's ever felt.

“Fine,” says Lotor primly, already shifting back to a poisonously pleasant tone, “we’ll see how long it takes for him to get tired of the fidgeting, the blabbering-“ the bastard pauses for effect, “the motel-art paintings. Don’t bother crawling back, Lance. I don’t accept sloppy seconds. Good luck in your future endeavors.” 

Keith waits for the click of his shoes to echo into nothingness before he steps down to Lance, who is faintly trembling, flexing his fingers over and over as he stares at his hands. Keith understands how hard this must have been for someone who spends most of his time trying to make others happy.

“Hey,” Keith says, quiet as he can muster. “I love you. And I love that you fill my silence, and I love that you’re always moving. Your energy is a good thing, Lance. Your _art_ , your _art_ is a _beautiful_ thing.” 

Lance grips him vice-tight until the shaking stops and manages a chuckle when Keith offers to knife Lotor for him. 

For the first time, while crumpling Lance’s dress shirt in a fluorescent-lit stairwell at his place of work, Keith feels whole. For the first time, when he’s happy, it feels like it can only get better.


End file.
